He stayed in this reverie until Mags placed her hand on his shoulder. "We should go visit her," she suggested.
After waiting for what seemed like hours, they were finally let into her room. She was sitting up in bed, her knees at her chest, but her eyes were closed, and her hands were clenched over her ears.
"She's…not quite right," one of the attendants said, looking away.
"Probably just tired," Mags said quickly, and the attendant nodded, but left quickly.
Mags gently tapped her on the shoulder. "Annie? It's us."
At Mags's touch, Annie's eyes flew open and she jumped slightly, removing her arm from Mags's reach.
"It's alright, dear. You're safe now."
Annie shook her head rapidly, back and forth.
Mags shot a concerned look at Finnick, who stepped forward himself.
"Annie?" He was careful not to touch her. She turned towards him, her eyes wide, but unfocused. Unreachable.
Finnick looked at Mags across Annie's bed. "She can't do her interviews like this."
"We have some time…" Mags said, but her voice trailed off lamely.
Annie had gone back to the position in which they'd found her.
In several hours, they tried everything: talking about home, talking about nothing in particular, and in one horrible attempt, addressing the problem head-on, saying Eric's name, talking about the ax, physically trying to prevent her from slipping away. This direct attack failed miserably, only increasing her distress ten-fold. She screamed and fought, but it was when she started to cry that Finnick had to leave the room, his own nerves too rattled to be any comfort. When he came back, Annie was at least peaceful and seemingly aware.
"What happened?"
"I tried singing…the music seems to sooth her."
"Well…that's something."
Mags had a talk with Caesar, and peaceful music was piped in during the interview. Mags and Finnick stood by to try to cover if Annie slipped away, or worse, broke down completely, but their presence wasn't needed. Caesar did almost all of the talking, and Annie managed vague nods and brief answers. The incident with Eric was not even alluded to; much of the time was spent talking about her family and life in Four and how those skills had helped her in the arena. It was a brief and dull interview, but at least it was controlled. Caesar was tactful and kind, and got Annie out of the spotlight as quickly as possible.
Very little improvement had been made when her Victory Tour rolled around. She'd had meetings with several therapists, but the results were the same: she'd either clam up and stare off into space or lose herself in her own private horrors, screaming and crying hysterically.
Mags visited frequently, occasionally bringing Finnick along.
"She doesn't want to see me," he'd said the first time Mags had asked.
"Honestly dear, I don't think she really "sees" anyone right now. She barely talks to her father."
"Do you think she'll ever…?" Finnick couldn't finish the question, and Mags couldn't answer. They both thought of Wiress from Three, who still couldn't hold a coherent conversation.
The irony of the situation struck Finnick all at once. Annie, the "smart" girl, had sacrificed her mind, as Finnick, the "beautiful" young boy, was forced to sacrifice his body on every single visit to the Capitol. It was almost funny, how fitting it all was.
The Tour was awkward, to say the least. Annie was passively laced and zipped and buttoned into outfit after outfit and coaxed into reading very brief remarks before being led offstage by Mags. She spent most of the Capitol ball in her room. Finnick found himself forced to fill the gaps as best he could, waving off prying questions about Annie's health with his best Capitol grin. "No really, she's just shy. Chronic stage fright, the poor thing. Don't know how Caesar got her through those interviews. Incredible skill, that man." "Well, of course she's overwhelmed. A fisherman's daughter suddenly the focus of a nation-how would you feel?" "Oh, she's just a little under the weather today. Caught a nasty cold back in Three-she just hasn't quite gotten over it yet."
But gullible as the audience usually was, they seemed to sense that something was off. Imperfections confused and unsettled Capitol citizens, but truly, they also terrified them. So once the obligatory traditions had been addressed, she was left alone.
Alone. Unreachable.
Finnick's father had introduced himself to Mr. Cresta, and the two seemed to get on well, these two widowers with strange children.
Life went on, as it usually does, but Finnick that his thoughts returned time and time again to Annie. Annie, the impetuous girl at the docks. Annie, the beautiful, witty girl in the blue-green dress. Annie, the broken girl trapped in a nightmare. He wondered what would have happened if Annie had not survived the arena. Would she become just another former tribute to him? Another ghostly face to haunt his dreams? He wondered, even, if it might have been better for everyone had Annie died peacefully. What she was living right now seemed far worse than death.